Guilty
by SandraDeee
Summary: She wanted answers. He wanted revenge.


Author's Notes: This story is in response to a challenge issued by Penny Lane from The Greens of Jericho fanfiction site. The challenge is as follows:

Imagine it is some years into the future and a reporter has chosen to interview someone who survived the bombs and the ensuing war. Take one of the characters we don't hear from as often and let them tell us a bit about their experience of the first days, months, or year after the bombs. Think of it as a chance to explore an alternate character voice and perspective.

Disclaimer: As always, all publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

A big thanks goes out to Skyrose, my fabulous beta reader and friend. She's always a wonderful source of encouragement and advice.

* * *

**GUILTY**

"You have 'em with you?"

The steely gray eyes framed by a weathered face made Collie Stappert worry she would wilt under his scrutiny. In her decade and a half working her way up the ladder from beat reporter to a nationally renowned journalist, she'd had the opportunity to interview foreign dignitaries, members of the Danish royal family, and politicians galore from both sides of the aisle. Yet never before had she found herself so ridiculously nervous. This man, this _common_ criminal who would soon face his own mortality, had her inwardly quaking.

Maybe it was their surroundings. The Mansfield Penitentiary would, under the best of circumstances, make any rational person uneasy. But knowing what had gone on there in the weeks that followed the Day of Change with the riots and the expedited executions at the hands of firing squads, Collie had to garner courage; for she was entirely aware she allowed her imagination to run away with her.

But the surroundings weren't the only source of her discomfort. The man himself was, simply put, not what she expected.

"As promised." Collie slid the pack of off-brand cigarettes across the table in the small meeting room toward Jonah Prowse. She hoped he wouldn't be the finicky type. She'd pulled dozens of strings just to gain access to the man, and then she'd had to pull more to get him to agree to be interviewed by her. But as she always knew, every person has his price. His just happened to be a rather potent vice. Cigarettes were near impossible to get, despite the fact the war had been over for months. As it was, she'd nearly had to promise her firstborn to get this pack of knock-offs.

Jonah Prowse looked at the package and began laughing. "Surgeon General's Warning: Smoking May be Hazardous for Your Health," he read. "Don't think I have to worry about dying from smoking, unless the electric chair counts." He pulled out a cigarette, sniffed it, rolled it between his fingers, and then looked expectantly at the reporter.

Collie retrieved a box of matches from her bag and looked to the guard for approval before she struck a match on the box and lit the cigarette.

"I'm impressed they let you in here with those," he commented, and she thought she could almost see mirth in his expression.

"What can I say? I'm a journalist. I'm scrappy."

Jonah immediately placed the cigarette between his lips. For a few moments, he remained silent, concentrating instead on the feel of the nicotine entering his system. When he finally spoke, he did so with a sardonic smile. "When you write about this, be sure you note that I inhaled."

With a single manicured finger, Collie pressed the "record" button on her tape recorder. "Let it be noted that Mr. Prowse inhaled." She paused, surveying him closely. "You're not what I expected."

"Neither are you," Jonah replied, leaning back languidly in his chair. "When I heard Collie Stappert wanted to interview me, I was expecting a dog, not a beautiful woman."

Collie's cheeks felt warm, and she knew she must have been blushing. This man made her feel like a child. It was absurd, really. Hadn't she heard the wise cracks about her name before? Her grandmother had suggested the name _Colleen_, and her mother had agreed, though from the time Collie was a youngster, she had never been called by her formal name.

"My apologies," Jonah said before Collie had the opportunity to respond. "Being in the presence of civilized company takes some adjustment."

Collie cleared her throat slightly. "You joke about dying. Most men in your situation are more reflective."

With no ashtray in sight, Jonah tapped his cigarette, sending ashes falling to the surface of the table, any pretense of civilized manners brushed aside. "What did that guy Shakespeare say? Something about a man who fears death dies many times or some bullshit like that?"

"'Cowards die many times before their deaths. The valiant never taste of death but once.' Do you consider yourself valiant, Mr. Prowse?"

Jonah nearly snorted. This woman spoke so guilelessly, but Jonah knew that any woman who would go to the lengths she did to get the death row interview certainly wasn't naïve. Yet the tone of her voice didn't sound as though she was baiting him; he'd become a master of recognizing that. His daughter Emily had seen to it. "Now that's one I've not heard in a long time. _Valiant_. Look around you. Is there any such thing here?"

"That's my question for you."

Jonah spoke in no uncertain terms. "I'm no hero. Never have been, never want to be one. The choices I've made were based on survival and opportunity, not ideals and sure as hell not a quest for heroism." He watched as she shifted in her seat. He made her uncomfortable. Was it the setting? She looked prissy enough, from her perfectly coiffed hair to the short, manicured nails she sported. Prison surely wouldn't have been her preferred location, but Jonah figured it had to be more than that. She was a woman used to being in control, and thus far, he had ceded very little.

"So you would describe yourself as…?"

Jonah took a long drag from his cigarette. "An opportunist who finally got a few opportunities."

"I did some homework on you."

"I'm touched," Jonah replied wryly.

"You're from Jericho."

She spoke of it as a one word name. Not Jericho, Kansas. Just Jericho. "You've heard of it."

"Well, at this point, who hasn't? The ASA tried to quell an uprising there. Unsuccessfully," Collie added. "Jericho sparked a revolution with its smoking gun."

"That was never my fight," Jonah replied. "Though if I'd've known there was a bomb around there…" his voice trailed off.

"So you weren't part of this fight for freedom, but you're here because of a political assassination. How do you explain your role?"

"I told you. I'm all about opportunity. You know, the funny thing about all this," with his hand he motioned toward their surroundings, "is that I was trying to," he chuckled, "be a productive member of society when the world went to hell. I was rebuilding my shipping business, had leased the old county airport, had a good crew of men. Rough around the edges, but weren't we all? Even thought of getting back in touch with my kid. But here's the thing. When you chip away at modern conveniences, peel away the government, it's still every man for himself, and it's always gonna stay that way."

"Some people would say that's a rather cynical outlook on life."

"And 'some people' would be right. What of it? Have you seen anything different in these last coupla years that proves me wrong?"

"I'm supposed to be the one asking the questions."

Jonah extended his hand, as though to offer her control of her interview. "By all means."

His gesture was not lost upon Collie, and she silently cursed herself for not maintaining a better control of this interview. She refused to acknowledge this, though. "Tell me about your childhood."

Jonah leaned back in his chair, eyeing the woman. "Whataya want to know? Nothing that happened then is going to change anything."

"Humor me."

"I'll do one better. I'll give you my whole life's story. Let's see. Single mom. Mischievous kid. Probably woulda been put on meds if I were a kid nowadays. Juvenile delinquent. Made it through school by the skin of my teeth. Had a family. Got into trouble with my bosses. Paid my debt to society. Lost my family. Rebuilt my life. Now this."

The speed with which Jonah rattled his life's story gave Collie little time to insert follow-up questions, but the look Jonah shot her was a not so subtle, _I dare you_. He'd keep his part of the bargain—to an extent. He was, after all, a man of his word. But he'd sooner swallow rusty nails than tell this virtual stranger how difficult it was to be the only kid in his class who didn't have a dad growing up. What business was it of hers?

Or how he created diversions in class to mask the fact he couldn't see the blackboard, and he'd've rather done that than be a four-eyes.

Or how when he was thirteen, he tracked down his father, only to have the man beat him back with his words and fists.

Or how running with a rough crowd as a teen was his guarantee that he'd never be anyone's victim again. He'd learned then that he was a natural, if harsh, leader. It was good for people to fear him.

Or how much he wanted Annie the moment he saw her. Didn't matter that he didn't deserve her. Hell, he was going to have her. And he did. He got her pregnant deliberately, promised he'd turn his life around if she'd marry him. And she did. And he did. For awhile.

Or how he thought having a family would give him a sense of purpose. How he'd tried to fit the mold society expected of a husband and father. He wanted to be more than his father ever was. But this Collie Stappert didn't need to know that he saw more of his father in himself than he'd care to admit.

Nor did she need to know that it was hard to let old habits die. He'd prided himself on being smart. Maybe not book smart, but he had street smarts. And he had gotten nowhere with his job at the mine. He wanted more than kissing his boss's ass until retirement. He took a chance, and it paid off. For awhile.

He'd been scared when he went to Lansing. He never thought the charges would stick. He had been scared of leaving his wife, his kids. Scared of what would await him in the big house. It was the first time he remembered being scared in his adult life—though it wouldn't be the last. When he came out, he started over, but so had Annie.

"Where were you when the bombs hit?"

"A few miles outside of Jericho at the old airport. Going over some figures and—if you can believe this—W-4 forms for my son's buddy who'd just gotten out of prison. I'd given him a job. Figured that's what Chris would've wanted. And then the sky to the west lit up like hell on earth. I knew it had to've been Denver."

"How did that make you feel?"

"Are you asking if I got all weepy?" Jonah scoffed. "What would've been the point? I couldn't do anything for those people. Only person I could do anything for was myself."

"What about your son?" Collie wasn't about to mention it to the man who sat across from her, but she had missed all mention of his son in her research. Of course, with records as sparse as they were—unless one had some type of government clearance—she was lucky to dig up what little information she did have Prowse.

Jonah paused imperceptibly. "My son's dead. Has been for years. My daughter, well, as far as I knew, she was safe in Jericho with her rich fiancé in their fancy house."

"You didn't talk to her?"

"Only when she wanted something," Jonah responded.

"So the world changes irretrievably. Walk me through your steps."

"When everyone else was waiting around for someone to come save 'em when their damn Internet stopped working, I went to work. My men and I stockpiled supplies: food, fresh water, ammo, fuel, batteries," he looked down at his cigarette before taking another puff, "cigarettes, condoms, meds, anything we thought we would need."

For a moment, Collie's memory returned to those hours after the attacks. In the bullpen, she and her colleagues had been torn between reporting the events and tending to their family's own needs. Those hours had been horrific, even realizing they'd dodged a bullet, but the worst had been yet to come. She shook aside the thoughts, forcing herself to return to the matter at hand. "Surely there must have been a run on the stores. How did you manage?"

"I didn't go through official channels," Jonah replied with a smirk. And it was true. Before the food drops, the dealing with that fool Gracie Leigh, and the ambushes for the Army supplies, he and his men had managed to case several warehouses in the region and stop a loaded semi. Hell, they'd taken the semi as a souvenir.

"Weren't you worried about the others? How your actions would affect them?"

"No." Taking a drag of the cigarette, he watched her eyes widen slightly before she regained her passive expression.

Collie cleared her throat slightly. "I understand this is not the first time you've been jailed for murder."

"True enough. I was…" Jonah considered his words, rejecting the word _innocent_. He couldn't remember the last time he'd actually been innocent. "…not guilty of Gracie Leigh's murder. Nearly got strung up for it, though."

'The good people of Jericho,' as Johnston Green used to always call them, had been running scared, made him the scapegoat. Jonah figured it matched his own running scared. He'd gone to Emily for help after being accused of the crime, stabbed, and turned out by the very men he'd led. He figured she owed him considering it was her G.I. Jane moment at the compound that let Mitch Cafferty—God rot his soul—throw him under the bus.

Jonah had been in some tight scrapes in his life. Wouldn't have had it any other way. Else, how was he supposed to feel alive? But staring down the barrel of the gun that Gray Anderson held and hearing Jake Green appeal for his life made it about as real as it would ever get. Even the thought of being strapped into the electric chair didn't seem real as compared to being one pull of a finger away from death.

They were probably all still patting themselves on the back for not losing their humanity, for sparing his life. Made him sick to think of the simpering weaklings.

"You asked whether I was worried about the others. Why should I have been? The most they worried about where I was concerned was how to murder me and make it look like justice."

"With all due respect, Mr. Prowse, most men in prison proclaim their innocence. Why should you be believed?"

His gray eyes hardened. "Two things: I never said I was innocent of anything. Matter of fact, I'm guilty as hell of the murder that landed me here, and I'd do it again. And again. And again if I had the chance. Second, I don't care whether you believe me or not. All I wanted was the damn cigarettes, not your approval."

"My approval or disapproval is irrelevant." Collie stiffened her back, sitting up as a straight as a stick. "What is relevant is the role that you've played at a pivotal time in our nation's history."

Jonah withdrew another cigarette from the package. He had a buzz from the nicotine. He'd forgotten what it was like. "Right there with Booth and Oswald."

An opening. Collie pounced. "Why _did_ you do it? Why did you kill John Tomarchio?"

The corners of Jonah's mouth curled in a subtle smirk. There weren't many things that offered satisfaction to him these days, but knowing that bastard John Tomarchio was dead was a gift that kept on giving. "I'm a patriot."

Jonah Prowse's answer did little to satisfy Collie's drive to know. She knew a stonewalled answer when she heard one. What was it her co-workers used to say? She might be called Collie, but pit-bull would have been more accurate when it came to determination. "You've made it clear that you look out for yourself, so why put yourself on the line? Hunting Tomarchio down as you did, that's not taking advantage of an opportunity. You had to know what would happen."

Jonah shifted in his chair, resting his right elbow on the chair's wooden arm. He looked the reporter square in the eyes, though his response, in essence, deflected her question. "You ever think it was too easy?"

"What do you mean?" Collie asked.

"You said I hunted Tomarchio. It's not hunting when you have a fish in a barrel."

Collie stiffened her back. "Will you please clarify that for me?"

"Guess I'll have to give you the map and connect the dots, too. I was tipped off." Jonah paused and watched the implications of what he said begin to sink in with his companion. "I knew he was being transported from the 'secure location' to the courthouse. I knew the route the envoy would be taking. I knew how many would be in the security detail. I knew how to get in to the court house. I knew where a weapon would be hidden. I knew where to wait. And I knew they had no interest in protecting Tomarchio."

Collie's eyes widened. "You're saying that you had help? Someone else wanted John Tomarchio dead and made you the fall guy?"

Jonah considered her words. Maybe he was someone else's fall guy, but that didn't diminish the fact that he wanted Tomarchio dead more than he'd ever wanted anything else. "I already told you I'm guilty as hell. I killed him, and I'd do it again. I'm not the only one who wanted him gone, but I was more than happy to oblige. But to further answer your question because I'm a cooperative kind of guy, I hadn't really planned on ending up here."

Collie cleared her throat. "So what went wrong?"

"I think you saw what went wrong. You and the rest of the world." The video footage of Tomarchio's assassination and the direct aftermath had been looped nearly continuously for the days that followed the crime. Jonah had always warned his men about planning every aspect of every job. And then he'd gone and ignored his own code. And he'd made the job personal. If he had kept his distance the way his informant instructed, he would probably be free and clear, but no, he made it personal.

There was something about sinking a .45 into Tomarchio's stomach and gutting him with it, whispering in his ear as he died. He'd wanted the bastard to know it wasn't political zealotry.

Yes, it was personal.

Collie saw the look of satisfaction on Jonah Prowse's face and, despite her own misgivings where Tomarchio was concerned felt a chill run through her. After the war between the East and West, controversy had swirled around the issue of reconciliation. How does the nation go about laying down arms after everything that happened? There were those who entreated President Charles to look to history at Abraham Lincoln, whose goal before his own assassination was to heal the rift between the two sides instead of pursuing punitive actions. There were those who pointed to the treatment of Jefferson Davis, the President of the Confederate States of America, as a guideline for handling John Tomarchio, President of the Allied States of America. Davis had been arrested, as had Tomarchio, and charged with treason. Yet Davis never had a trial. He was released and became, by all accounts, a productive member of society and one who encouraged unity.

There were those who argued John Tomarchio was a misled hero, not a villain. As a United States Senator, they felt it was within the scope of his authority to consolidate what remained of the Federal government. He gave people hope for a better future when so many saw little hope for anything.

On the other hand, while John Tomarchio didn't orchestrate the attacks, Collie could understand why elements within the government might want him gone. He had been a divisive figure. His charisma, his appeal, it was still there for many of his followers who looked to him in the months following the Day of Change. Some people argued it was dangerous for a republic that was rebuilding to allow those elements to remain unchecked. And then there was the rebuttal that they would be destroying their foundation of beliefs if they did eliminate his influence.

Collie felt like she was about to burst at the seams from this information Prowse revealed. It was more than she'd hoped to find out and certainly put a new spin on the story. "Do you know who provided you with the information?"

"At this point, I don't really care."

"Mr. Prowse, you're scheduled to be executed in a matter of weeks. Security is tight around you for your protection as much as for anyone else's. You have no hope of a reprieve, no prospects for escape. It _really_ doesn't bother you that someone else out there is an accessory to this assassination of John Tomarchio, someone who gets all the benefits and none of the consequences?"

Jonah said nothing. Truth was he'd done the very thing he said he'd never do. He let his emotions guide him instead of his brain. Yet he'd do it all over again.

"But if you're not a patriot, why go to the trouble?"

"You have kids, Ms. Stappert?"

"No."

"I was never a good father. Thing is, though, I always said I'd kill for my kids. 'You hurt my kids, I'm coming for you.'"

Collie's brows furrowed as she tried to grasp what Jonah was saying. "But your son…"

"Has been dead for years. My daughter…not as long."

Jonah's words sank in, and Collie searched for some reaction from him, but he sat, stone-faced, puffing on the last bit of his cigarette. She opened her mouth to speak, but found it difficult to form the words. How had she missed this in her research? And how could he be so calm?

Finally, she managed to respond, "I'm sorry for your loss."

Jonah thought back to the last time he'd seen Emily. She'd looked so much like her mother but had enough of her father in her that sometimes Jonah wasn't sure whether to be proud or scared as hell. She never knew he had watched her that day—she was leaving for a trip out to the Green Ranch to do a few chores, from the sound of it—but it was something he did from time to time. They hadn't spoken since he had asked her to join him and his road gang before the battle with New Bern. He'd lost whatever tenuous hold he had on her that day. His own survival instincts wouldn't let him be the man Emily wanted him to be.

Instincts be damned.

He'd soon be dead anyway. Just like Annie. Just like Chris. Just like Emily.

"I lost her long before that day."

"What happened?" Collie asked softly.

"Didn't see it go down. Just heard about it. Some ASA operatives took her, turned her over to Tomarchio and Valente. They tried to use her to get to Jake Green."

Collie nodded her head. She knew of Jake Green. In fact, she had tried to get an interview with him, but he was even tougher to get to than the man she sat across from, and that was saying something. Green had been instrumental, along with Robert Hawkins, in revealing the truth behind the attacks on the Day of Change. He was a war hero. And he was decidedly enigmatic. She'd heard stories about him, of his heroism in battle, but anything that really spoke of the man himself was kept quiet, as though it was a closely guarded secret.

"They knew each other?"

"They were in love as kids. I guess they'd reconnected." Jonah paused, holding up the unlit cigarette he'd removed from the package moments earlier. He looked to Collie, who absently lit the cigarette for him.

"What happened to her?"

Jonah had only a few facts and a morbid imagination to be able to answer that one. "She outlived her usefulness. Knowing her, she was more trouble than she was worth." He cleared his throat. His Emily always did have a way of getting under people's skin. She was impetuous, sharp-tongued. "Tomarchio ordered her killed if she didn't cooperate, and that was that." He took a drag of the cigarette trying to chase away the thoughts that plagued him and realized that it was futile. He'd need something more potent to chase away those demons.

Jonah had heard more through the grapevine than what he told this reporter. It wasn't just that Tomarchio had ordered her killed. Hell, he himself had ordered people killed. Nothing personal. Just business.

But it was the method that made Jonah vomit when he'd heard. Word was Tomarchio threw Emily to his lieutenants the way a master would throw a steak to a pack of starving, wild dogs. When they were done, they had bragging rights that they'd "had Jake Green's whore," strung up her naked body near Jericho, and let the vultures pick at her before her corpse was recovered.

After that, it hadn't been a question of what to do about it. It had only been a question of when.

"As you mentioned, we've all seen the video footage of John Tomarchio's assassination," Collie began. "After you pulled the trigger, it appeared as though you said something to him."

"I did," Jonah replied simply.

"With the sound of the crowd in the video, it is impossible to discern your words. Do you care to share what you said to him?"

"That's private."

"But surely for posterity--" Collie began.

Jonah interrupted, "You think I care about posterity? I'm a dead man, Ms. Stappert. A walking, talking dead man. My family is gone. This new government is worth about as much as a piss pot, just like the old one. And you, if you think anything I've said here today really matters…" his voice trailed off.

"Please go on," Collie urged.

"Nah. I'm done here. We're done here," Jonah replied, reaching across the table and pressing the "STOP" button on the tape recorder.

"Mr. Prowse, you're wrong," Collie replied as she took the tape recorder from the table and placed it in her bag. "What happened here today does matter."

Jonah snorted. "For your career, you mean."

"For the truth," Collie asserted. "Somewhere out there is someone who made it possible for you to carry out this assassination. And it had to have been someone on the inside. I'm going to find out who it was—and why."

Jonah settled back in his seat, not sure whether to laugh or sneer at how certain this plucky little reporter was.

"In the meantime, you may not be a dead man walking after all. You can cut a deal. Get your sentence reduced. Maybe life in prison. You can still provide answers, answers that might lead to this other person. Or…or…maybe a whole group of people within the government. We may be sitting on a huge conspiracy!"

Jonah shook his head. "Slow down, speedy. What makes you think I'd even want life in prison?"

"But surely it's better than the alternative."

"What? Being extra crispy? Burning in hell? Hell is a place of your own making, sweetheart, and I'm already there." Jonah watched as Collie's shoulders slumped. "Only thing I got going for me is this right here," Jonah added holding up the pack of cigarettes, "and these should last me through tomorrow."

Collie thought for a moment before speaking. "If I could get more, would you be willing to tell me more about the source?" Oh God, what favors did she have left to call in if he agreed?

"Maybe," Jonah replied with an ironic smirk, "if I'm not busy doing something else."

THE END


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